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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28840605">Tequila Nights</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/onionrings_andhoneymustard/pseuds/onionrings_andhoneymustard'>onionrings_andhoneymustard</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mild Language, Snippets, State of Mind Collection</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 14:07:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28840605</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/onionrings_andhoneymustard/pseuds/onionrings_andhoneymustard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>T.K. wakes up with a faint headache, a dry mouth, and a vague sense of regret that uncoils in the back of his skull and slithers down his spine.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>Unfinished/Incomplete.</em></p><p>Part of the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/StateofMind">Scenes from the Lone Star State Collection</a></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Judd Ryder/TK Strand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Scenes from the Lone Star State</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tequila Nights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>T.K. wakes up with a faint headache, a dry mouth, and a vague sense of regret that uncoils in the back of his skull and slithers down his spine. Sifting through his memories of the night before, he tries to figure out where he ended up; it doesn't bother him as much as it should that he can't.</p><p>At least he ended up somewhere inside. Even with his eyes closed, he can tell he's lying on someone's couch. It's soft and comfortable, and smells somewhat like laundry detergent. He lets himself enjoy quietly laying there for a few more minutes before blinking his eyes open.</p><p>There's a coffee table in front of him, with a bucket on it directly in front of him and a tall glass of water to the side. Sitting up, he sees a piece of paper with a note scribbled on it: <em>Drink this</em> and an arrow pointing toward the glass; <em>Vomit in this</em>click to his left and turns toward it, watching the front door swing open and a man he vaguely recognizes steps through it. </p><p>The man stops short when he sees T.K. looking at him, eyebrows rising. "Oh. You're awake. That's great."</p><p>"Yeah." T.K. taps a fingernail against the glass in his palms. "This is your place?"</p><p>"It is." He shuts the door behind himself, holding up a brown paper bag. "I ran out to grab fresh bagels since, you know..." He trails off, and when T.K. doesn't respond, his eyes narrow slightly. "You don't remember, do you?"</p><p>T.K. entertains lying, but he's never been particularly good at that. "No, I don't."</p><p>"Right." Clearing his throat, he shrugs off his jacket and lays it over the back of the couch. Setting the bag on the coffee table in front of T.K., he takes a seat on the couch to T.K.'s right. "You told me your favorite breakfast after a night drinking tequila is black coffee and a bagel 'with a generous spread of cream cheese.' I can make coffee but not the rest, so..." He shrugs, scratching the back of his head. </p><p>T.K.'s brain kicks into gear. "Thank you."</p><p>"Sure. There's coffee in the kitchen."</p><p>T.K. considers his options. He could leave now; he probably <em>should</em> leave now before he feels compelled to ask questions about last night and has his dignity slowly slip away. But, the man seems normal and nice enough, and a bagel <em>does</em> sound good. "I'd love some coffee."</p><p>Rising, the man gestures for T.K. to follow him. "Right this way."</p><p>T.K. grabs the paper bag off the coffee table and follows him into the kitchen, taking a seat on a bar stool at the counter. T.K. watches him pour coffee into a campfire mug with the silhouette of a brown bear on one side, murmuring his thanks when it's pushed across the counter. "Remind me of your name?"</p><p>The man finishes pouring his own mug of coffee, adding a touch of creamer, before he answers. "It's Judd."</p><p>"Judd," T.K. repeats, opening the bag so he can busy himself with preparing a bagel. "And remind me of how I ended up in your house?"</p><p>"Oh, Lord," Judd mutters, taking a long swallow of coffee. It had been obvious that T.K. was drunk - he'd vomited in the bushes outside the bar, as Judd had guided him to his truck - but he hadn't seemed completely <em>obliterated</em>.</p><p>"Long story short: You got cut off at the bar. My buddy - who owns the place - asked me to make sure you got home in one piece, but you wouldn't give me your address. You kept saying, 'I'll tell you where I live tomorrow, if you show me where you live tonight.' Finally I just gave up."</p><p>T.K. feels an embarrassed flush spread across his cheeks. Using the plastic knife from the bag, he cuts off a bite of the bagel. "Yeah, that sounds like something I'd say. Did we, uh… you know… Did we fuck?"</p><p>Judd gives him a look. "No. We definitely did not. You were very drunk."</p><p>Shrugging, T.K. stuffs the bite into his mouth and chews quickly. "Doesn't mean anything."</p><p>Judd isn't even going to touch that statement. Not right now, at least. "You as hungover as you look?"</p><p>"I don't know. How hungover do I look?'</p><p>"Hungover enough to say, 'I'm never drinking again!' and then reconsider once you feel more like yourself."</p><p>T.K. smiles ruefully. "Yeah, that sounds like me. My record for saying that and sticking to it is 116 days. This time it was nine."</p><p>"You're in recovery?"</p><p>T.K. nods, picking at the bagel. "For three years now."</p>
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